Chapter 33
Thirty-Three
Looking Through Patient Eyes
Ryan
After I finish baking the coffee cake and failing, yet again, to recreate Betty's masterpiece, Spence and I are relaxing on the couch after a dinner of honey bourbon glazed salmon and mushroom risotto I made for us. We're now digging into a piece of the cake. With coffee, of course.
It's a good cake, but it doesn't compare. I wish Betty would just give me the damn recipe already.
I look over at Spence and watch his sinfully full lips drag over the fork as he takes a bite. The man drives me wild, and if it's the last thing I do, I'm going to get those lips against mine.
It's frustrating as hell that he will suck and fuck me and eat my ass like it's his last meal, but God forbid he kisses me. Doesn't he know fucking is so much hotter when tongues are tangled?
My desire to pin him down and kiss him has been so much worse lately because Spence has refused to fuck me while my leg is healing. But I think it should be okay now. It has to be okay now. I really need to get that girthy cock inside me again soon.
Thing is, I don’t think his brain is going to allow us to be anything more until he lets me in. I need to get him to drop the veil and let me past his defenses. And now that I’ve taken steps toward my own freedom, I feel a little more justified in pushing him. Just a little. Like Betty suggested.
Using it as an excuse to pry, I go back to the question game we were playing earlier and say, “Hey Spence?”
He looks at me with those ridiculous fuck-me eyes over the rim of his coffee cup and hums a seductive, “Hm?”
Fuck, just a simple sound from those lips and I'm squirming in my seat. “We didn't finish our game of twenty questions earlier. I have a few more for you.”
F-Bomb jumps up on the couch and curls up next to me. Spence narrows his eyes at the cat for not curling up next to him, but there's no real heat behind it. He cuts off another bite of cake with his fork as he says, “Well, go on then.”
This might be pushing it, but I need to dig deeper with him. I honestly don't know if it's better to pile on to a day that's already been emotional and get it over with—or wait for another day. Not that this will be the only emotional day we experience together.
I know there's some deep trauma he's alluded to. I just need him to know he has a friend he can unload on. Working up the courage, I clear my throat. "You don't have to answer if you're not ready."
Spence raises a brow.
"You've mentioned there were things that happened before Travis." He stills, fork mid-flight to his mouth, and my nerves kick. I push forward anyway. "Can you share a little bit with me? I want to understand."
Spence sets his fork down on the plate. "That's not really a twenty questions topic, Ryan."
"I know," I say softly. "But I want to know you, Perfect. Really know you." The words feel inadequate, but I mean them with everything I have. "But we don't have to talk about it right now."
I look down at my palms. I'm not sure I'm ready for how he's going to react.
Spence sighs, then leans back. "Okay."
My head snaps up to meet his eyes. "Okay?"
"Yes, Ry. Ask away."
I pick at my jeans nervously. "What happened? Before Travis. Or during. What made you close yourself off?"
Spence looks to the ceiling. I can see his throat working, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows down whatever's trying to choke him. He drops his head and meets my eyes, and the pain I see there makes me want to reach for him, but I don't. Not yet.
"It was my parents, mostly. But that stretch of years between my parents and Travis, it was one thing after another."
I curl my legs up on the couch and rest my elbow on the back of it, letting him know he has my full attention. "Tell me."
Spence leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His fingers knit together, white-knuckled. "Well. My dad. That part's simple."
"Don't minimize it, Spence," I tell him. "But go on."
"I guess straightforward is a better word.
" He laughs, but it sounds broken. "He found gay porn on my computer.
" A pause. My brows lift, but I force my face neutral, let him continue at his own pace.
"He called me while I was at work. Told me to get my ass home.
" Spence's voice drops, goes flat in a way that terrifies me. "When I did, things got violent."
I sit up straighter, muscles tensing, my jaw so tight I could probably crush my molars into dust. "Spence—”
"My mom got me out of there that night." He keeps talking like I didn't speak, like he's rushing to get it out before he can't. "He had been violent with her before. But when he raised a hand to me, that's where she drew the line."
My fists are clenched now, and I don't know what to do with them. I feel helpless just hearing about it, impotent rage flooding my veins, but I nod, prompting him to go on.
"We bounced around between a few shelters before we got on our feet." His voice cracks on the last word. He looks away, toward the window, anywhere but at me. "I don't,” he sighs. “I don't like talking about that time in the shelters, Ryan."
"Okay," I tell him, gently. "You don't have to right now."
He just nods, but there's appreciation in his eyes for not pushing, something raw and vulnerable that makes my heart ache for him.
"My dad was a drunk." The words come out clipped, dismissive. "He died a few years after we left. Drank himself to death."
"Damn. I'm sorry."
"Don't be," he tells me, shaking his head, and I can see him retreating behind walls, see him trying to make it not matter. "It wasn't a loss for me. He was never going to be a part of my life."
Still, I feel bad for him. I feel bad for the kid who lost the chance to show that piece of shit what he made of his life, what he survived.
Spence draws a shaky breath. "My mom… that's tougher."
I don't say anything. I just give him the space to share things on his terms, my body leaning toward him, wanting to bear some of this weight if he'll let me.
"Mom had gotten a job at a gas station, and I worked part time at a local taco shop after school." He's staring at his trembling hands now. "Neither of us made much, but it was enough to pay for a one room hellhole in a sketchy apartment building."
He stops, and the silence stretches, heavy and suffocating.
"It was a Wednesday afternoon." His voice has gone distant, hollow, and I know he's not here anymore, he's back there, in that place. "I flung open the door and called out for her. My body was vibrating with excitement."
A ghost of a smile crosses his face, there and gone. "I had been chosen to run all the costuming for the school's production of Gatsby. I'd always been drawn to fashion, and I knew the style from that era was dripping in sex and swagger. I couldn't wait to sink my teeth into it."
I can picture a little Spence. Young, bright and full of dapper dreams. I’m guessing that got derailed.
"A quick scan of the studio told me she wasn't home. Figuring she was at work; I pulled the bag I had picked up on my way home from school and went to put it away in the bathroom."
He swallows hard, his whole body going rigid. "I twisted the knob and pushed to open the door, but it only opened about an inch before it met resistance. I pushed harder and it nudged a little further. Something was blocking the door."
My heart is hammering now, dread pooling in my stomach, because I can see where this is going and I don't want to hear it, but I need to, I need to know everything that broke him.
"Using my shoulder, I heaved against the door, and that's when I found… it’s a sight that will forever be burned into my brain.
" His breath hitches, tears gathering in his eyes though he tries to blink them back.
"A hand lay still on the floor. One final shove and I was able to get inside the bathroom.
And then I fell to the floor screaming."
Tears are streaming down his cheeks now, silent and relentless, and he's not looking at me anymore, he's looking through me, back at that bathroom, at that horror.
"My mother's lifeless body was splayed across the dingy tile.
" Each word is wrenched from him, raw and bleeding.
"Her lips were blue and several pill bottles were scattered around her.
" He's shaking now, his entire body trembling.
"I pulled my phone out of my pocket, put it on speaker on the floor and called 911 while I started CPR. "
He stops, and the silence is absolute, broken only by his ragged breathing.
"But I knew," he whispers, and the grief in those three words destroys me. "I already knew."
“Spence—”
He holds up a hand. “It’s not what you think.”
My brows shoot up, confused, but I let him continue.
“She had a heart attack, Ryan. She was looking for her medication.”
My heart sinks.
Spence’s fingers claw at his jeans. “That’s what was in the bag I was taking into the bathroom. I took her pill bottle with me to get her refill. There was one pill left in the bottle I took.”
Fuck.
“I killed her, Ryan. I killed—” a blood-curdling sob rips out of him before he can finish saying the words.
I'm across the room in a heartbeat, kneeling down in front of him, my hands finding his knees, his thighs, rubbing soothing circles through the denim.
"Spence," I choke out, my own vision blurring. "No. No, Spence, no. You didn’t. There’s no way you could have known. You don’t even know it would have made a difference. "
He doesn't look at me, just keeps staring at some point over my head, tears still flowing like he doesn't even feel them anymore.
"Between my dad, my mom, and Travis," he finally says, voice broken, each word trembling with the weight of years spent alone, "I've either been displaced for who I am, left because that person couldn't choose me, or left alone because life decided to fuck me."